


weightlifting fairy park chanyeol

by yamzy



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Sports, M/M, Slice of Life, weightlifting fairy kim bok joo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-15 17:28:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15417939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yamzy/pseuds/yamzy
Summary: in which chanyeol just wanted to make his mom proud, graduate college, and go to the Olympics. falling in love wasn’t part of the plan.alternatively: the kdrama au no one asked for





	1. intro: chanyeol

**Author's Note:**

> someone on twitter mentioned chanyeol being the new kim bok joo and i’m still laughing at the thought of it, really. so, credits to whoever said it first (my TL was a mess that night i saw that tweet once and never saw it again T_T). 
> 
> this fic is based on the korean drama weightlifting fairy kim bok joo, with a few liberties. also, i'm know nothing about sports—everything you will see here is a combination of things i picked up from the drama and Wikipedia—so i'm really sorry.
> 
> also, unedited. rating will probably change.

His mother used to lift weights in college.

 

With his mother’s bright eyes and blinding smile, many people used to dismiss her as just _another sweet girl_. She seemed like a fairy—so pure, so innocent. But Lee Young-mi, behind the sweetness in her smile, found power in pettiness. So, she continued hiding, behind a large façade of _cute_ , in order to fool everyone who had the gall to think less of her because she was a _woman_. She won competitions left and right, proving everyone wrong. After she has toed the borders of her body’s limitations, she retired from the sport, settled down, and set up a chicken restaurant.

 

It was the perfect life story to be featured for those “inspirational” shows. Facing a problem, overcoming the odds, and tasting victory.

 

Too bad Park Chanyeol, the great Lee Young-mi’s only son, didn’t have the same success story.

 

The only reason he got into weightlifting was because his mother bribed him with chicken. There was no pettiness, no will for revenge, no trying to overcome the odds placed by sexist idiots who felt like they ran the world—just the juicy, tangy, delicious taste of fried chicken. His mother told him she would serve him chicken any time he would like if he chose weightlifting instead. So, as a gullible, foolish child who trusted his mother too much, he did.

 

(He originally wanted to play basketball, but there were no open classes. Swimming—his father’s choice, and weightlifting—his mother’s, were the only ones available. Apparently, his parents had a secret bet on whose sport he would choose. When his mother confided what she had done, she claimed that pushing her child to the cheaper option—the instructors offered the great Lee Young-mi a discount—was just smart parenting. His father shook his head and stared at their wedding pictures for a good two minutes.)

 

But he’s not a gullible, foolish child anymore who sold his soul for chicken, and his mother’s pride. He was now six-foot-two, twenty years old, at the prime of his youth, and selling his soul for a full athletic scholarship.

 

His mother went into the sport to raise a middle finger to old men who looked down on her.

 

He went into the sport to raise a white flag to old men who ruined the economy.

 

Well. While he might not be inspirational, he certainly was _relatable._

 

He took a deep breath. There weren’t that many people in the audience—this wasn’t the Olympics, after all—but he still felt like he was drowning at the number of faces that he could see. His mother wasn’t part of them—he had begged her not to go. It was his first major competition as a weightlifter and as much as he loved her support, he didn’t want to think about people comparing them. Plus, his older cousin Yifan was absolutely terrible with his baby brother, Toben; he cannot be left alone. However, despite his family not being there, he didn’t have a shortage of people to support him. Both of his coaches were there, Coach Liu and Coach Lau, and the entire weightlifting team was also cheering for him. Of course, it’s not like they were there just to support him. Behind their loud cheers and shouts were, of course, an ulterior motive in a sense. It wasn’t with malice—he knew that, but he also knew that all of his teammates and coaches expected, or at the very least, needed him to win today. Especially since only their oldest hyung, Minseok, was able to get a podium finish in today’s competition—and it was only a bronze. He had to win, gold preferably, otherwise they might get some of their privileges revoked. The weight was on his shoulders. This was the prime example of taking one for the team. He truly had to—

 

The loud buzzer rang, signaling that it was the time for him to actually start what he had trained months, heck, years for. It wasn’t the Olympics, nor was it even one of the biggest sporting events in the year, but he held his breath like it was. He didn’t look—he couldn’t afford to look anymore, right now—at his _people_ , but he knew that they held their breaths too.

 

He walked, or at least tried to, steadily towards the barbell. It was funny now that he looked at it—it was just a few pieces of fancy and heavy metal welded together, but everyone’s lives were on the line for it. It must be feeling very special right now. He resisted grinning—it might offend the barbell. At that, he released the breath he had been holding and tried his hardest not to scoff at himself. People always said that athletes were the most superstitious but the same people would always forget to mention the amount of overthinking athletes were prone too, which was why they had to resort to silly superstitions. Or at least, that’s what he believed, or _lived_ , as he was proving right at this moment.

 

The annoying, but familiar sound of the buzzer shook him out of his thoughts again. He had to move quick—at his periphery, he could see the timer starting count. He let years of training and muscle memory take over him, stepping forward, gripping the barbell, and _lift._

 

_Squat._

_And over his head._

He couldn’t see his friends right now, but he knew Jongin’s slender fingers were probably being crushed by Minseok-hyung’s. Meanwhile, his entire team right now were probably drowning in tension.

 

_Same_ , he’d like to say. He inhaled and exhaled according to what training had drilled into his head since day one, but he still felt like he was drowning. Maybe weightlifting was him trying to live? He really shouldn’t get into philosophical discussions with himself right now.

 

The buzzer rang once again. He dropped the barbell. Suddenly, the need for oxygen started rushing in. He had been holding his breath for some time in the last few moments of that lift, it would appear. He was just starting to gather his composure before the waves of anxiety flooded into him again. Did he do the lift correctly? It would be an embarrassment if he got disqualified just because of a stupid technical error—all that training would be for nothing. Or did he make a mistake during the lift? He should have listened to his coaches meticulously—his coaches, _fuck_ , what do they think?

 

He tried to search for them in the audience, trying to read their faces to gauge their reaction. However, they weren’t looking at him. Both Coach Liu and Coach Lau faced sideways . . . to where? Who on earth would—

Chanyeol felt his stomach drop once he remembered the judges. _The judges._

 

He felt even more constricted now, more like he was drowning. His head felt like it was swimming too. So many things were happening at once; he was starting to—

 

_White light_.

 

His coaches and team shouted in joy. His waves had subsided—but they were still there. The happiness that emerged from his people also subsided a bit—like they were scared to become too jovial in case Fate decided to go all _“Ha-ha, booboo, you fools”_ on them.

 

Right. He still had the clean-and-jerk to go.

 

The goddamn buzzer rang again, but this time, he was more prepared for it. Or at least he felt like he was—he didn’t have to keep his knees from shaking this time. Superstition would say that this might be a sign, but his two working brain cells wouldn’t do their job and indulge him from just a few seconds to fool him that this was going to be a sign for a _win_. So there, his cynicism was striking again—this was probably a sign for failure. Arrogance and thinking of winning always pissed Adidas, the god of sports or whoever the god of sports was (Reebok? Nike? Wasn’t one of those sportswear brands named after a Greek god or something? Fila? Ivy fucking Park?), he thought. Funny how superstition when combined with his pessimism didn’t really do him anything wonderful. Was this the curse of being an athlete? Maybe he should become a model instead—but no, his mother laughed and pinched his cheek before on that one, when he mentioned it to her.

 

He heard one really sharp intake of breath. It was Jongin, whom as he had already guessed, had his hands squeezed to the hardest by Minseok hyung. Waking him up from his thoughts, he stole a quick glance on the time.

 

_Fuck._ Only fifteen seconds left. He really should’ve been lifting that barbell.

 

He gripped it again, feeling the familiar metal under his hand, and lifted.

 

He squatted.

 

And _over his head_.

 

He didn’t really know how long it had been when the stupid bell rang again. He also didn’t know how long he had stared at the floor while the judges probably deliberated. But when the judges’ white light came, here’s what he did know:

 

Amidst his friends’ loud cheers, his coaches’ crushing hugs, and the heavy gold medal looped around his neck, Park Chanyeol realized he was in the beginning of his own success story.

 


	2. intro: baekhyun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, this is unedited.

Ariel was his favorite Disney princess.

 

At least, that was what he wanted to tell people when they asked why he got into swimming. But he was in sports—the land of repressed homophobia that peeks through the cracks with secret hateful glares and snide comments said through grunts during training. True, it was the 21st century; things had gotten better. But as Baekhyun’s _too doting_ (read: paranoid) mother would say: you can never be too safe. And he liked to believe he was a good son, so he tried to follow dutifully.

 

It was funny how he failed to do that with the sport he chose. Here he was, willingly throwing himself off to an environment that was the opposite of where man was designed to be. When God imposed limits on the human body, relegating man to land, he was probably not listening, dipping his feet into the water instead. One of his seniors argued that humans were naturally _with_ water, as babies swam all the time in their mothers’ stomach, but Baekhyun disagreed with that. He wasn’t part of the water, he wasn’t _with_ the water—he was an outsider. And that’s what made it so interesting.

 

Amidst the deep indigos of the ocean and the artificial sky blues of the chlorinated pool, he lived like an outsider. But he felt no hostility or animosity at all. He was welcomed by the waves, and sang to sleep both by the loud splashes as he came into the water and silent serenity underneath. Before, he had always compared his relationship to the water to a tourist and his connection to a foreign land. As the tourist sampled the local delicacies and experiences the location’s activities, his life got richer. He felt more cultured, experienced, more equipped with stories to tell his friends. But Baekhyun realized that he wasn’t a tourist in the water, despite acknowledging the fact that he was an outsider. There’s a certain sense of barrier that separated tourists from a foreign place, he has always thought. Perhaps it was the idea that at the end of the entire trip, tourists came home. But he never felt like he had to come home from the water. Maybe because it was already home—maybe because it _had been_ home.

 

He was an outsider, a foreigner, who pushed himself into a foreign land only to be hugged and welcomed like a prodigal son. At one point, he thought that maybe it was like finding a soulmate—losing yourself in the middle of unfamiliarity only to find someone—some _thing_ that you _just_ know. Perhaps it was also why he loved Ariel so much. The girl defied the limitations imposed onto her to chase after the familiarity she felt in unknown territory, or at least, she was curious enough to seek why she felt tethered to unfamiliar land (pun not taken). It was like jumping headfirst to toy with the unknown, only to find a giant Easter egg that screamed “ _Ha. You knew this all along._ ” That was Baekhyun’s story with the water; too bad he hasn’t gotten a Prince Eric in the process.

 

But all good stories end, he supposed. Ariel lived happily-ever-after (he only acknowledged the Disney version) with the love of her life, while the love of his life—his _soulmate_ —has now forsaken him.

 

It has been a long time since the water has taken him into his arms, instead of spitting him out.

 

His brother, Junmyeon— _sensible, responsible_ Junmyeon—has long told him that his recent trend with false starts was a result of anxiety. His brother usually followed that statement with a thirty-minute speech pushing him to talk to a counselor, but Baekhyun zoned out after the word “anxiety.” He wasn’t going to be pompous enough to not acknowledge the role of anxiety in what was happening to him—you cannot be an athlete and not think of mental health, of course—but he was more focused on how his present situation was just a “trend.” Was it even a trend when there appeared no signs of him stopping? Maybe this wasn’t a passing phase. Maybe this was his new state of being—his new _thing_? Maybe this was a sign from the heavens above to just _quit_. Fuck. You really cannot be an athlete and not be superstitious, huh.

 

Today was another addition to the _trend_. He didn’t really want to dwell on it, but when you’re stuck in a hallway, with a dead phone, watching over your friends’ belongings while he went and relieved himself in the bathroom, your brain loved to betray your and mull over your failures instead. He sighed. He really thought today would break his streak. But there he went, jumping into the water too immediately, experiencing the joy of being with his love only to have the euphoria broken by the piercing shrill of the official’s whistle. Again, he failed. He felt like a rejected lover who’s still whipped enough to continue chasing.

 

There were a few things that he has learned since he got into sports. One, losing was a part of the process. It kept the balance, he supposed. Like yin and yang. Sports wouldn’t be interesting if there were no winners and losers. Hell—it wouldn’t be _sports_ if there were no winners and losers. There would just be people showcasing their talents—and even then, the lack of contrasting mediocrity would just make them _people showcasing—_ that’s it. Two, disappointment was also part of the process. It kept athletes eager to win, fueling the balance of the world they lived in. There was drama with disappointment, and the world of sports was a whole reality show of extremes waiting to be picked up by Netflix. Sports would always have its narratives: the Davids and the Goliaths, the champion on top and the underdog waiting for his time. Disappointment was just the sprinkle of spice and emotion ensuring entertainment for all. Three, experiencing both losing and disappointment _was_ the process. It was the initiation rites of being an athlete. Muscle pain, bruises, broken bones—those weren’t the hardest part of sports—being left out while your friends took medals and podium finishes was.

 

But no one ever taught him how painful it was to _go through_ the process. To be the receiving point of losing and disappointment as you realize how much you failed in the world that you have chosen. He knew that he wasn’t the only athlete in the world who has gone through what he was going through right now, but no amount of support and sympathy from his friends and family could erase the bitter taste in his mouth, the never-ending ache in his chest, and repeating, incessant mutterings echoing in his head.

 

 _“Byun Baekhyun in fourth place got a false start. He’ll be disqualified_.”

 

_“The false start came back to haunt him again.”_

_“Such a shame.”_

 

Such a _shame_.

 

He’s heard them all—he wasn’t new in this sport, after all—but he didn’t think he could ever learn the pain. He didn’t think he could ever be numb to it, to be able to just brush it off. After all, every comment people had about him was true: he was a shame—to his family, his friends, himself, and to Princess fucking Ariel. He didn’t think he could ever learn to forget or at the very least, ignore that fact.

 

Shaking his head, he tried to get rid of the bothersome thoughts crowding in his mind. He stole a glance from his phone. Jongdae, his best friend—the one who actually managed to go through the competition to snag a third place—was around thirty minutes late . . . and counting. His friend was probably still busy celebrating with the other winners, playing extra nice to potential sponsors, or whatever it was winners did after competitions. Baekhyun didn’t really know. It has been a long time since he was put into that position.

 

He grabbed his and Jongdae’s bags and went his way to their dorms. He would just text his friend to meet him there. While he first thought his friend’s company might help distract him from his loss—or stupidity, depending on who you’d ask—realizing that his friend has won while he didn’t even get a chance to properly compete didn’t really sound like he’d find Jongdae’s company a _good_ distraction right now. It wasn’t his friend’s fault, of course, but Baekhyun was only human. He wasn’t really envious of his friend, but he really didn’t think he could give Jongdae the congratulatory praises that the boy deserved right now. Today was a day for his wallowing, as he swam in bitterness. Tomorrow, he promised, he’d treat his friend to some tteokbokki. Jongdae would understand why he needed to hide away from the world today. He always did.

 

A high-pitched voice pierced through his thoughts. “Mr. Byun!” the voice called out.

 

He turned around, only to see the sour-faced Choi Tae Hoon and his coach smiling at him. No, that was wrong, only Choi’s coach was smiling at him, as Choi himself was smirking. And as much as Baekhyun would like to wipe the floor with Choi’s grin, he knew the only arena to establish his dominance was in the pool. And given his false starts and Choi’s gold medal, he wasn’t really in the proper condition to do so.

 

Baekhyun tried his best to affix a smile onto his face. Despite it, he wasn’t even going to try to make his smile at the very least, believable. Choi Tae Hoon certainly didn’t make an effort trying to look like he was celebrating his win and not Baekhyun’s loss, anyway. “Yes?” he said sweetly, ignoring Choi, and addressing his coach instead.

 

“Mr. Byun, I’m Choi Tae Hoon’s coach, Ahn Shin Jae. Can we talk?” the kind-looking man requested. He seemed kind, the direct contrast to the devil spawn that was his student.

 

But Baekhyun wasn’t raised to be gullible, and he knew that the coach’s words weren’t his. The man was probably a paid microphone spouting out Choi’s bullshit, so he wasn’t going to be fooled. “Aren’t we already talking?” he answered.

 

The man’s smile faltered, but out of the corner of his eyes, Baekhyun saw Tae Hoon’s grin grow larger. His rival looked like the creepy hyenas from Lion King, although he wasn’t as fear-inducing as much as he was laughable. _Fuck. That shit-eating grin._ Now all he wanted to do for the rest of the day was imagine how he would wipe the floor with Tae Hoon’s face.

 

“Uhm . . .” Shin Joon, or whatever Tae Hoon’s coach’s name was, stammered. For someone who was supposed to be a coach, he seemed like a nervous mess. Seems like Tae Hoon was still hiring fake coaches to mask the fact that he was the one in control. “Can you be Tae Hoon’s private training partner?”

 

“A private training partner?” he asked. Now that was something he didn’t expect. Him? Byun Baekhyun, Choi Tae Hoon’s biggest rival until he made a mess of himself and started earning false start after false start, be Choi’s private training partner? Even he thought it was a bad idea, and as much as it pained him to admit it, his strained relationship wasn’t the main reason why it would be a terrible idea—his performance was.

 

Apparently the crack in Baekhyun’s steely and cool demeanor was evident, seeing how Shin Jun (what’s his name, really) became more emboldened. The newfound confidence reeked off him, as the coach put one arm over his student’s shoulder, who in return, stood up straighter. Baekhyun didn’t think it was possible but Tae Hoon managed to be more smug.

 

“Tae Hoon doesn’t like training in _Taereung_ ,” the coach said, the stress on the last word . . . oozing, making Baekhyun shiver from disgust. His stomach was churning; he wasn’t really used talking to people who were too full of themselves they didn’t feel like real anymore. It felt like talking to the sleazy villains from cartoons, to be honest. At this point, Baekhyun was just waiting for the piano to drop on them.

 

There was a glint in their eyes as they waited for his answer—his _response_ , actually. He knew the two didn’t really care about his answer, as it was his reaction that was the most important. _Taereung_ —the perfect reminder of how far he has fallen, how he lost one of the biggest opportunities to Tae Hoon, how he started his _trend_. Baekhyun tried his best to mask his uneven breathing and twitching of his eyes. He already lost to Tae Hoon—again and again—so he wasn’t going to give the boy more satisfaction.

 

“I think he needs some private training,” Tae Hoon’s coach continued. Baekhyun scoffed.

 

“It would be nice to train with someone with similar records,” the devil chimed in. He said it so sweetly, smiling so genuinely that for a split second, Baekhyun thought it was real. “We’ll be able to help each other. It’ll be a win-win situation,” Tae Hoon added. With that, Baekhyun couldn’t suppress the eye roll he’d been curbing since the two stopped him.

 

Tae Hoon stretched his hand out for Baekhyun to shake. _What the fuck_. The other boy smiled at him. _What. The. Fuck._ For an outsider, it might seem like a friendly gesture, but Baekhyun knew better. This was his rival trying to test or gauge him. This was a competitor checking on another competitor. Frankly, this entire scenario was making his ego swell a little bit. It’s nice validation to see that Tae Hoon was still threatened by him. Perhaps false starts were just stupid mistakes, not an indication that he has lost all swimming talent.

 

Maybe he still had it in him, after all.

 

Baekhyun smiled. He looked at the hand offered to him and shook it. “It’s my honor,” he said, smiling brightly. Maybe he looked slightly mocking, but he was genuinely thankful. _Fuck, Choi Tae Hoon. Thank you for believing in me when I didn’t anymore._ “A nobody like me rarely gets to train with a world star like you.” He wasn’t really a nobody, was he, if Tae Hoon were this desparate to get him? Baekhyun laughed internally. “But, I have difficulty waking up early. We can’t train in the morning. I also have to take all weekends off. I’m sensitive to change, so I’d like us to train at my school. Can you meet my requests?”

 

Judging from how Tae Hoon’s face fell and his smugness replaced with annoyance, he knew that his rival couldn’t. He didn’t really expect him to meet his requests, just as how Tae Hoon had probably expected him to say no to his offer. But still, it was still nice to annoy Tae Hoon. One point for Byun Baekhyun, zero points for Choi Tae Hoon.

 

Tae Hoon and his coach looked at each other, both looking irritated. They’ve spent enough time on this issue, and Baekhyun just wanted to go home. “You can’t, right?” he asked with an air of finality. “I knew you couldn’t.” He bowed to them and turned his back to leave.

 

At the corner of his eyes, however, he saw Tae Hoon’s coach sigh, shoulders slumped. In his eyes, there was a glimmer of . . . disappointment? _Fuck. What the fuck._ So, they _did want_ him to say yes. Now if that weren’t validation, he didn’t know what else would count.

 

Two points for Byun Baekhyun, zero points for Choi Tae Hoon.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Taereung is the Korea National Training Center, also known as the Taereung Training Center. It's where South Korea's representatives to the Olympics train, or at least that's what Weightlifting Fairy Kim Bok Joo and Wikipedia told me.'
> 
> i had a really hard time writing this part, to be honest. idk if it were because it’s been a while since i wrote, or because i have too much on my plate right now. plus, i feel like I kept people’s hopes up with the first chapter because it was so _normal _. so when I came back to write here’s what happened—messy, disjointed introspection, and the lack of knowledge in sports.__
> 
> __  
> _dedicated to_[mamang](https://twitter.com/k0yawonu) and [ninna](https://twitter.com/jongdaks). i told myself i'd write something light to lift all of us up but baekhyun couldn't get himself a clean start, so...  
> 

**Author's Note:**

> i write slowly i'm sorry


End file.
